


Odyssey Number Five

by honeybee592



Series: OTP: Brains, Brawn, and Biotics [9]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, M/M, Playlist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5760787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/honeybee592
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A totally self-indulgent series of fics written to each of the songs from Powderfinger's Odyssey Number Five. The whole album makes me think of shega, shekno, and shenga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waiting for the Sun

Shepard, unsteady and woozy, watched the destruction below. Reapers, Alliance ships, Turian, Krogan. All there. All fighting. And dying. In the distance, the sun--Earth’s sun--obscured by debris. Dull. Dirty. Hazy light. With any luck, the sun would catch her.

She would wait.

Done. All done. No more now. Just waiting. All around her, explosions rocked and boomed. The crucible would crack around her, sending her flying into space. 

She would wait.

Voices sang in her head. Kaidan? James? No answer. She called. Their voices echoed in her head; their dog tags warm against her chest. She laughed. Her and lieutenants. They’d call her back.

She would wait.


	2. My Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite songs of all time. Oh man, seeing them playing this live--it was emotional.

James missed her. Needed her. He wouldn’t be happy again until he had her in his arms. He pictured her arrival: she’d walk home from the docking bay, bag over her shoulder. Wouldn’t want to cause a scene in front of her subordinates. The heels of her boots would click on the footpath. She’d knock then open the door and there she’d be. Home.

Weeks trickled into days. Crosses marked on the calendar. Notifications on the omnitool.

James worked and worked out, did what he could to stem the excitement. Every sound from outside, every creak of the gate send his heart pounding. Time wouldn’t change them. He thought it would, that they’d get used to the deployments, the absences, the reunions. But they both stayed the same. Passionate as always.

Days trickled into hours. 

When she came home, the air would change. No more jagged anxiety. No sharp ache. Just… Lola. Warm, comforting happiness. 

And then the rusty gate creaks, her heels click, the door opens. Bag forgotten on the floor. She wraps her arms around James, and James wraps his around her. She’s home and all he wants is for her to stay.


	3. The Metre

More celebrations. More parties. More toasts and more awards. Shepard kept her glass topped up and her smile wide. She’d left her mark across the whole galaxy. The only reason they were all still here was because of her.

She’d bluffed her way through every banquet and she’d continue to do so, knowing that Kaidan would be with her, his smile beaming and eyes bright. She hadn’t saved the galaxy for him, not exactly. Not just him, anyway. But knowing he stood beside her, ready with a dry remark and his arm linked through hers, well, just that made what she’d done worth it.  
*  
One last drink for the night. Two glasses raised in quiet, exhausted celebration, whiskey golden in the candle light. Afterwards, he’d ease her out of her dress, press kisses against her skin, massage all that tension from her shoulders. 

Just the two of them, Kaidan and Shepard. One more night together.


	4. Like a Dog

James punched hard but Shepard punched harder. He’d found that out right at the start, back when he’d been her babysitter--sorry,  _ guard _ . Pissed him off. Shamed him. The size of a krogan, full of muscle and brawn and he still got beat.

On board the Normandy, she continued to hit hard and he continued to get pissed off. He’d growl and she’d growl back.

“Yes, use that anger. Make it make you better.”

He listened, he really did. He listened to everything Shepard said. These weren't his brawler days at basic. He kinda wished they were. Shit was simple there. There he’d take a hit and laugh, tell the pendejo that he punched like his abuela--though that was far from the truth. That tiny old woman must’ve been a bantamweight winner back in the day. Couldn’t do that now. Not with Commander Fucking Shepard laying down the punches.

Shepard taught him to control his rage, overcome his shame, break out of that damn cage and take advantage of his reach to really fuck up his opponent.

When he finally got her on her back, her nose bleeding and eyes black, she’d laughed. Really laughed. She coughed up blood but she kept on laughing. For a brief moment her eyes told him that she’d been like him once. Aggravation and rage. Aggravation and shame.

He held out his hand to pull her up, only to have his feet kicked out from under him.

  
His turn to laugh.


	5. Odyssey # 5

Why the Citadel remained so calm, James didn’t know. Couldn’t tell the Galaxy was burning, not from here. Pendejos. Didn’t they know? Didn’t they care? They just sat here in their safe cocoon, ignoring everything going on around them. Even Shepard seemed calm. But he’d been around her long enough now to notice how she held her tension. She’d be worrying about the Major and here James was ranting about shit that didn’t matter.

Ah, fuck it. If nothing mattered then he’d head to the lower levels, where grunts like him belonged. But at least he’d be a gentleman and invite Shepard for a drink. 

Aaaand, she didn’t say no, at least.


	6. My Kind of Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough* skipping a song :|

This was it. His last run. Had to be. Either he got caught and put away, or he got killed.

James sprinted down the alley, jumping over trash sacks, checking over his shoulder for following cops. He paused. No footsteps. No yelling. No sirens either. He crouched down to catch his breath.

Shit, there had to be something out there better for him than this. How could he have stooped so low as to run red sand? He could blame his dad, blame him for losing it after mom died. After his abeula died. Or he could take responsibility and blame himself.

He leant his head against the wall, looked up. Stars. All the way up there in space. He could go there. Join the military. Get out of this dead end shit hole and actually make something of himself. Make himself proud. Ma and Abuela. They deserved that much, bringing up a little shit like James.

A dustbin at the end of the alley caught his eye. No need to even finish the job. He slipped the package out from his coat, dumped it, washed his hands clean of all this shit.

Tomorrow he’d be a new man.

*

The flashing lights and thumping bass had already set up a migraine. The drinks didn’t do much to help. Not that they were supposed to.

Kaidan pulled away from the guy pressed up against him, shook his head, mouthed ‘sorry’. The guy didn’t look too cut up, making a ‘you’re loss’ smile while he shrugged. Kaidan watched as the guy sauntered through the club, finding some other kid to chat up. How the hell had he ended up here? Not here in The Cardinal’s Hat, but _here_ in _life_. Well, yeah, the club too. Not his scene. Not at all. But home wasn’t his scene any more either. He wasn’t mom's little boy any more. He hadn’t been a kid for years now. He’d been through too much to call himself that.

An arc of pain lanced from his amp port through his brain. He winced. Definitely not his scene.

He made his way out into the cool Vancouver evening, shrugging his jacket back on. He rubbed the back of his neck, gingerly over the amp. Damn him for going out. He’d pay for this. His parents would pay for it too, both in his bad mood and the creds they’d have to spend on painkillers.

Maybe Dad was right. Maybe he should join the Alliance. The _real_ Alliance, where biotics could serve, get a pay check, and maybe be a little useful. Couldn’t be worse than Brain Camp.

Kaidan looked up at the sky. No stars. Too light. But they were there. Maybe that’s where he should be too.


	7. These Days

Spectre. _Spectre._ The word felt foreign as her tongue clicked out the ‘t’ on the back of her teeth. _Spectre_. These days had turned out nothing like she’d planned.

She’d never expected to get this far. N7, sure. She’d dreamed of becoming N7 ever since she first met Anderson, when he’d been a dinner guest of young Berenice’s family. She’d hung on his every word, chin in hands, eyes bright as he recounted what were probably the tame, child friendly versions of his stories.

_“How come you never pay that kind of attention to me?” her mother had asked, laughing. “I’m a commander you know. I’ve got stories.”_

_“You’re not N7,” Shepard had mumbled._

_Anderson had laughed in that low, gravelly way of his. “Listen to your mother, Berenice. She can teach you a lot.”_

And she had. Hannah had set up Shepard very nicely for a military career. And Shepard only had to work twice as hard as everyone else because of that other, more famous Shepard who preceded her. Something about nepotism, she’d been told. Earning her place and all that.

Didn’t matter. Berenice Shepard was here now: a died-in-the-wool war hero, N7, and now Spectre, it seemed.

Shit. This was supposed to have been a shakedown mission. Nothing more. But now, as she stood before the Council, cameras in her face, she’d found that her walk on role had become a major part. She’d better learn her lines quick.


	8. We Should Be Together Now

James stared at Shepard as she lay in that hospital bed. Still unconscious. Had to keep her like that, the docs had said. Helped with the pain. He held her hand, cold and clammy. He took a deep breath and let it out. Another.

“What are you looking for James?” He sighed. Someone to bring you to ground?  _ Dios mio _ . “You turn me all inside and out, Lola. I don’t know what to do when I see you.”

She stayed silent. Unmoving. If it weren’t for all those tubes and beeps, he’d’ve thought she was dead.

He squeezed her hand. “We should be together. You and me. We’d be good. Tight. You know it. Damnit, Lola. Keep fighting, please. I’ll wait for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He hoped, wished for a response, a squeeze back, a sigh or groan. Anything. That’s not how this worked though. This wasn’t the movies.


End file.
